There are things I love within everyone,
And you are no exception:
It's so difficult to know where to start.
The poet within me longs to default
To beloved - yet stale - praise
Of your eyes, how spectacularly they shine
In the light;
To say that your smile is perfect,
And it is a privilege to be permitted
To taste it -
Whilst it's true, it isn't quite enough.
There are infinite metaphors
I have used before, to describe
Beautiful bodies much like yours:
A Greek god, a statue, the means by which
I justify sin...
Perhaps it's too much, but I am drunk
On your laughter,
Warm within your arms,
Yearning to let you know that what you are
Will always be enough;
Trying to convince you, quietly,
That you are a good man,
A delight to be around.
YOU ARE READING
Refraction.
PoetrySo many aspects, colours and themes make up our experiences. Truly, is anything entirely good or entirely bad? Upon weighing up the positives and negatives of the past, do we not admit that even tragedy is- in a twisted sort of way- advantageous? O...
